


MURDER SONG

by jiro (Allhailpuffinland)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, boy am i a fan of aurora's works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25654387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allhailpuffinland/pseuds/jiro
Summary: Young Nazir falls hard for the Listener, but Astrid has other plans for them.
Relationships: Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Nazir
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	MURDER SONG

**Author's Note:**

> lil character info for you right there: although her name doesn't pop up, this fic is based on my DB Ysmilda, Arnbjorn's grand-niece. Also. time-line wise nothing makes sense but idc this is my fic and i get to choose the timeline

Based on a collection of AURORA songs [playlists here: [yt](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjaOvGSKLoYhwntmvURoKvpifJqbowPDN) | [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/39YwfgZIyHG0vQJq7T2Re6?si=vEBn2Ym8QF6r0oF8aS6WbA)]

Nazir stares at the blade in his hand, glowing an eerie red. How did he let it come to this?

He thinks back to five years ago. She comes into the sanctuary like a fresh spring breeze, lifting the others' spirits. Arnbjorn calls her a pup, she is only fourteen. A child of the moonlight, a lycanthrope. And yet she is full of sun, bright and kind. She doesn't kill like them, she doesn't think like them. Innocent. A student from Solitude, coming to spend the summer holidays at a relative's place. Nazir wonders what happened to her family for her to end up in a dank place like this. She doesn't seem to mind the grittiness, the dirt that stains her blue skirts, the humidity that sticks to her short hair. 

She is only two years younger than him, and yet, her expertise surpasses his previous masters'. She looks frail, and weak, but with a battleaxe in her hands, she is strong, and wields the weapon like it is part of her. Her footsteps are calculated, the swings missing her training opponent by a few inches on purpose- to him, she is dancing along to the sounds of clashing metal, like a fairy hovering in the air.

When the child isn't training, Festus shares his knowledge of magic. And when she isn't listening to his long ramblings, her head is stuck in a book, devouring chapters at an alarming rate. In the time that it would take Nazir to finish a page, she'd already read a dozen.

She is carefree, roughhousing with Arnbjorn at any given moment, challenging him at friendly fights when he isn't busy at the forge. 

Rare are the moments where she talks to him, but by Sithis if he doesn't love them. In a single breath, she praises Aedra and Daedra, her brain an endless fountain of information. She shows him her school essays, tight ink lines covering the pages. He doesn’t know anything, and despite not being able to share what he knows, she is eager to teach him, an eternal smile beaming on her face.

Days come and go, and soon, she is on her way to Solitude once more. Nazir awaits everyday a black crow with a letter carefully attached to its neck with a red ribbon, a precious letter that she writes to him, and to him only. His eyes slowly decipher the blue loops of ink, and with each line read, his heart slowly swells with excitement, waiting impatiently for the next school break. How dearly he wishes to attend the Bards’ College, if only to see her! He can barely read or write, but in his spare time, he trains and trains, until he can write a letter of his own, that he sends to her in the same way.

Winter cannot come any sooner, but when it does, he keeps an eye on the heavy black door, hoping to see her. And alas, only his brothers and sisters come through, without sign of her. He wants to ask Arnbjorn, but his dark mistress’ husband would make fun of him. She is half the world away, and his heart is in pain, lost. He doesn’t know why. Why does his heart yearn for her? Why does she make him feel soft inside? He doesn’t know why.

And finally, in the middle of a snowstorm, she comes. She is warming up in front the fireplace just as he comes back from a contract, covered in frost and blood, while she is covered in furs and skyforge steel. She greets him with a smile brighter than the hiding sun and invites him to sit next to her. And he obeys. She asks him about his day, about what he has done recently, while she hands him a wet rag to clean himself up. Nothing about contracts, or the Brotherhood. Refreshing, in a way. She listens, patiently, to him. They talk about everything, and nothing.

And when the two get up to go eat something, he realises that she has grown in just a couple of months. She almost stands above him, her green eyes peering into his. The pup isn’t a child anymore. By the look on her face, a seasoned warrior, and by the knowledge she holds, a renowned scholar. When asked about her studies, she sings of old battles and fallen empires, she dances with a sword and plays the lute at dinner to end the day on a peaceful note. She twirls around with Babette and Veezara, sweet music floating in the air. 

As the snowflakes fall to the ground, she celebrates her fifteenth birthday a few days into Sun’s Dawn, before going away once more. And Nazir’s heart pains again, her departure creating a hole in his heart. He focuses his mind on his contracts, his blade and him becoming one. He mopes around Lake Ilinalta, staring off at the waves that slowly crash on the sandy grass, birds chirping as the weather warms up.

Astrid watches over him with a careful eye, noticing his every move. She’s curious, but mentions nothing. She’d give him advice, but she knows that it isn’t her place to do so. Purple and pink flowers blossom around, just like youthful love made of purity and pain. Although, she does wish that he wouldn’t be this distracted. But the boy is only seventeen, and she remembers how she was at that age.

And Nazir stares at the blade in his hand, glowing an eerie red. How did he let it come to this?

A year passes by without seeing her once more. Her studies have become too important, but in the June breeze, in the corner of his eyes, he sees a dream that hasn’t died. This time, she isn’t shrouded in armour, but rather, in blue cornflower dresses, just like the first time they met.

The Night Mother talks to her. She whispers to the girl in her raspy voice the distressed pleas of Skyrim’s children, and she shares them with the Brotherhood. She takes pride in her role, and her inner flame grows with divine intelligence.

And now, his heart feels warmer than any fire, and oh, how desperately does he want to hold her! Just her hand, their pinkies intertwined as they walk down the path to the Guardian stones. He listens to her praises of Mara and Kynareth, of Azura and Meridia. They spend their day lazing underneath the shades of trees, eating juicy peaches and sweet berries. Poems and tales of grand leaders and History.

She talks about Sithis, about the Brotherhood. About Cheydinhal’s purification that the Night Mother mentioned to her. About the original tenets. She says that she would like to officially join the Brotherhood, if they started following the tenets. She loves Astrid with all her heart and wouldn’t question her loyalty to the Night Mother and her leadership, but she can’t help but wonder about the decisions she’s taking. Quickly, she changes the subject to something else. Something much more light-hearted. But within her, there’s still a seed of doubt.

Laying down on cotton beds and sharing secrets, their own soft universe. She pours love into her words, and as his head falls down on fabrics of velvets and silks, he lets himself catch a breath from the world. Nazir recalls old memories of sandy dunes in Hammerfell, of harsh winds and cool nights, sweet cakes of dates and honey with hot tea.

She asks him if he misses his home. In the heat of the moment, he wants to tell her that with her by his side, he is home. But instead, he shrugs his shoulders, answering that as long as he has food and a roof, he is home. It’s a sad outlook on life, she says, one should always have a place to call home.

Home is where the heart is, and right now, his heart is with her.

Summer is kind and gentle, and by the Nine how much does he want this moment to never end. Festivals of bountiful harvests in Kyne’s honour are sprinkled throughout the hottest months, people donning thin dresses and tunics of cotton and linen, instead of the usual wool and leather. She braids flowers into Babette and Gabriella’s hair after doing the same to her own. Brown locks that flow in the gentle breeze, braids with touches of colour. Sweetrolls and crostatas, cold meads and wines. She joins a troupe of bards for a song or two, songs that praise the Divines for the harvest, before leaving to dance hand in hand with the farmers. She places crowns made of ivy and strands of wheat and bluebells onto Arnbjorn’s hair, who decides to humour his niece for a while.

As the sun sets over the mountains, they sit on the edge of the lake, taking a moment to rest, and for once, be like anyone else. They stay there, in complete silence, enjoying each other’s presence. Nazir timidly holds her hand, and as she holds his tightly, everything in him starts to feel as if he belongs right here. She knows that she cannot heal the hurt, but she stays there, holding him tenderly. In this moment, he feels as if his life has only just begun, as if his heart had been torn the minute he was born, and she is what makes him whole again.

Now, he wants to hold her entirely in his arms, to let her and the world know how much he loves her.

The moon shines brightly on Falkreath, the streets now empty, save for a few guards. Shyly, they dance hand in hand, spinning and twirling delicately, faring their last goodbyes before she leaves once more. A bittersweet departure, wet with her tears that he wipes away with his thumb, a small kiss on her hand.

Shadowmare’s black trails of smoke disappear into the morning mist, the tall pine trees looming over him. He is painfully alone.

And Nazir stares at the blade in his hand, glowing an eerie red. How did he let it come to this?

While he tends to Veezara’s wounds, Astrid sends her after Cicero. Deep within him, he knows that it is a suicide mission. The jester, even wounded, is far too strong and quick. Stronger than him, stronger than Arnbjorn, and certainly stronger than she is. He dodges and dodges every attack. But she follows him anyway, a spark of worry in her eyes. The wait seems endless, and he paces the cold stone floors of the sanctuary.

The fireplace eats up log after log, and there’s still no trace of her after a week. He lurks at the marketplace, hoping to catch a rumour about a jester, or a girl shrouded in black racing down the country. He sees that his dark mistress is worried too. After all, she has no news of her own husband. Yet, when he speaks of his love to her, she says nothing of the lass.

It is a matter of days before Arnbjorn is back. Suprisingly, his hair is clean and he traded his old armour for a new tunic. He claims the girl forced him to do so, and knowing her, Nazir knows he isn’t lying. Pulling him aside, he asks where she is. Back in Solitude once more, gone after slaying the jester and nursing her uncle back to health. He wants to know more, to know if she’s safe, if the clown had even dared to put a hand on her. But he can’t.

And Nazir stares at the blade in his hand, glowing an eerie red. How did he let it come to this?

He sees Astrid’s eyes following him everywhere, piercing his back. He feels her uneasiness growing, but he doesn’t know what is causing it. He’s afraid to ask. He continues on normally, sharpening his swords, preparing the daily meals, training and cleaning up the messes his dark brothers and sisters get into.

He hears from Babette, from Festus, that Astrid is preparing him a special contract. What kind of contract? They don’t know anything more, and she doesn’t say anything. Silence, complete and utter silence.

And Nazir stares at the blade in his hand, glowing an eerie red. How did he let it come to this?

Honour and loyalty. To their superior, to their dark siblings. Do not dishonour the Night Mother. Do not betray your family. Do not kill the innocent. Do not steal, and most importantly, do not kill a dark brother or sister, lest you invoke the wrath of Sithis himself.

And Nazir stares at the blade in his hand, glowing an eerie red. How did he let it come to this?

Astrid had called him in her room in the middle of the night. To discuss his next contract. A contract so secret that he has to keep it to himself, otherwise he would never be able to complete it. She hands him the blade of Woe, before whispering to him the details.

At night, slip into a certain room at the Dead Man’s Drink, and take the life of the person sleeping there. No hesitation, one swift movement. Leave without a trace, like the morning mist.

He makes his way to the inn, his footsteps almost quiet, the soft sound of gravel crunching against a mixture of grass, wet dirt and sand. A few torches hung here and here illuminate the streets, the embers of the forge gently crackling as he passes by the blacksmith’s house. Who is he out to kill? A question that is about to be answered. The second door to the right, in the upper level. Apprehension builds up in him.

With a deep breath, sticking to the shadows, he slides into the room, silently. The bed basks in the moonlight, a small frame resting on its stomach, breathing in and out.

His love.

His soft universe.

His dark sister.

Long hair that trails on the back of her white nightgown, the gentlest breeze swaying a few stray locks.

And Nazir stares at the blade in his hand, glowing an eerie red. How did he let it come to this? Four tenets already broken, the fifth one about to be broken.

How could he? He hovers above her, his blade about to strike. And in one swift movement, without any hesitation, she pins him down to the bed, a look of fear and betrayal in her eyes. The blade falls to the floor, the sound of dull metal filling the room.

He stays pinned underneath her, her wrists tightly clutching his, painfully. They stay like this for what seems like an eternity. And slowly, her gaze turns to sadness, understanding the situation. Astrid, he whispers, a tear falling down his cheek. How did he let it come to this?

She takes off her hands, the two sitting up right. Without a word, they stare at each other, silence reigning over the room. Carefully, she brings up a soft hand to his face, wiping away the tears that now fall freely. He pulls her up to him, holding her in his arms. He doesn’t mean to do any harm, and he cries, and cries. He knows that if he doesn’t finish this contract, Astrid will finish it for him. And for a brief moment, he considers killing her out of mercy, just so that she dies a peaceful death.

I’ll run, she says. I’ll run away.

Sithis doesn’t call her back to him yet. She knows what he’s thinking and starts crying. She cannot let him do this. Sithis’ wrath would be too much for him to handle. Softly, she caresses his face, cupping his cheeks and pressing her forehead against his, their breaths shaky. She presses a tender kiss on his lips, a kiss of love and understanding.

Don’t go. He pleads, but she’s made up her mind. How much does he want to spare her from all the awful things in life! She doesn’t have to end up like him. She has the power to change it all.

He falls apart as he watches her leave under the wistful eyes of the moon and the stars, until she is gone.

The blade is gone, and so is he, and here she goes.


End file.
